It's sad. Yes, that's all we can say- it's just sad. It's the end of several eras. He was a magical entertainer, and in spite of his colossal success, a tragic character. He ravaged his body and died too soon, maybe before his story was actually coming to an end. But maybe he'd done it all, and there wasn't anything left to do but become a caricature of himself.

50 is a strange age. You start out convinced that you'll never have to learn anything the hard way anymore. But I have noticed, when the 50's come around, either you accept the challenge to reinvent yourself in some way, or you rededicate yourself... or you die. Period. I have yet to know of anyone that is exempt from this, and I've been paying attention. Studying it, you might say. How could Michael reinvent or rededicate himself? I doubt he could.

Now that he's gone, the sickness and the insanity are already becoming obscured by the prodigious talent, the musical and cultural legacy, the personal, bittersweet memories his music was the soundtrack to, and yes, even the childlike gentleness of this man.